The Prayers of the Children
by GalahadsGurl
Summary: This is a songfic that kind of tells the story of the life of a certain Chino boy we all know and love. Beter than it sounds, I promise. R&R.


Disclaimer: Not mine. I don't own the OC, though I must say I wish I did.

Summary: I think you can guess who this is about. I was being a little liberal with the particulars, etc, and it doesn't necessarily go in order by Episode or by date. I hope you like it.

CAN YOU HEAR THE PRAYERS OF THE CHILDREN?

ON BENDED KNEE, IN THE SHADOW OF AN UNKNOWN DOOM

EMPTY EYES, WITH NO MORE TEARES TO CRY, TURNING HEAVENWARD,

TOWARD THE LIGHT

A small boy of about five kneels at his window, staring up at the stars. His blue eyes search the heavens for some kind of peace. The wind through the window ruffles his hair, his eyes closing at the first coolness he's felt all day. His mom had forgotten to pay the air conditioning bill again, spending the money instead on booze and drugs for her and his dad.

They're drinking again, getting so plastered, they won't remember his name. He knows what'll happen next. Dad will start shouting and mom will start crying and the world will fall down around his head. Again. Just like it does every night.

Staring up at the stars, he knows that somewhere, there is peace. He just hasn't been able to find it yet. A chair bangs against the wall, and he hears heavy footsteps storming toward the room he shared with his older brother. He doesn't bother to hide, knowing that that will only make things worse. Pleading with the stars once last time, he rises and turns to face his fate.

The fist catches him broadside, sending him flying into the wall. He doesn't cry. He's forgotten how. The last thing he sees before darkness falls is one star shining brighter than the rest, giving a sense of hope that one day, this will all be over.

CRYING, "JESUS, HELP ME, TO SEE THE MORNING LIGHT OF ONE MORE DAY

BUT IF I SHOULD DIE, BEFORE I WAKE, I PRAY MY SOUL TO TAKE."

He doesn't remember what happens next. He just remembers that it hurts. His older brother finds him the next morning, bloody and bruised, continuing to lie where he'd fallen in the first place. He'd stayed awake all night, his eyes staring fixated at the doorway, knowing that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't wake up. He hated where he was, but he knew that he didn't want to leave it behind.

But if he did die, he just hoped that he goes someplace where people don't hurt him. Where people will love him. Where he feels safe. Giving a mental snort, he thought silently, "Yeah, that'll be the day."

He knows that tomorrow will end the same way, and he'll spend another sleepless night, praying that he doesn't slip away without anyone knowing.

CAN YOU FEEL THE HEARTS OF THE CHILDREN?

ACHING FOR HOPE, FOR SOMETHING OF THEIR VERY OWN.

REACHING HANDS, WITH NOTHING TO HOLD ONTO, BUT HOPE FOR A BETTER DAY

A BETTER DAY

The boy turns 16. Dad is gone, but the pain hasn't stopped. It's just someone new, administering the only thing he knows; pain's the only thing that's real. It's the same scenario. Mom and AJ are drunk, shouting at each other, calling each other good for nothing. And then, the thundering footsteps, so much more ominous that they used to be.

The door flies open much the same way, and again, he doesn't try to hide. Except, somehow, this time is different. "You little punk, where'd you put it?"

His eyebrows furrowed, his blue eyes clouded with confusion. "Where'd I put what?"  
AJ grab his shirt and slams him into the wall, causing the boy to wince at the sharp crack of ribs breaking. "My stash. You little brat, tell me where you threw my stash."

"I didn't take it!" he shouted, struggling to loosen the man's grip.

AJ glares at him and drops him hard. The boy stumbles back into the wall, startled and relieved by this sudden change of events. The relief doesn't last long because soon, AJ is back with a long metal pipe gripped tightly in his hand. Bright blue eyes widened and he started to back up. "No, AJ, please. I didn't take it, I swear."

The pipe swings and he screams as it makes contact, breaking his ribs even further. "No! Stop! Please!" he screams, hands open and reaching for his mother, who stood in the doorway.

She never came. They continued to reach, empty. He hoped that someday, there would be something to reach for, to hold to, besides the dream that one day he'd be gone.

CRYING, "JESUS, HELP ME, TO FEEL THE LOVE AGAIN, IN MY OWN LAND

BUT IF UNKNOWN ROADS LEAD AWAY FROM HOME, GIVE ME LOVING

ARMS,

AWAY FROM HARM."

"Honey, wake up! You're just dreaming!" a gentle voice urged.

A voice he knows. A voice he loves. He continues to struggle though, unable to see anything but AJ's fury-filled eyes, his beefy arms swinging the pipe. His ears were filled with the horrible sound of metal connecting with supple flesh. "No!" he screamed, as he felt tender arms wrap around him and hold him close.

"Honey, wake up!" This time the voice was in the form of a sharp command.

He didn't know why he obeyed it, but his eyes opened and he looked up into the concerned blue eyes of his foster mother, the one person he could ever remember who loved him as his mother should have loved him. The depths of her eyes were overflowing with love, tenderness and concern. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, embarrassed by his panic. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, honey. You did nothing wrong. I love you." She whispered, bending to kiss his forehead softly.

Those were words he had never heard from his real mother and, as was his usual custom at this confession, he fought to bury his tears. "I love you too." He replied, relieved that the arms he woke up in were tender and gentle and that the woman they belonged to, loved him.

Closing his eyes, he felt safe. Loved. And it didn't hurt.

CAN YOU HEAR THE VOICE OF THE CHILDREN?

SOFTLY PLEADING, FOR SILENCE IN A SHATTERED WORLD.

ANGRY GODS PREACH A GOSPEL FULL OF HATE, BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT

ON THEIR HANDS

His new life, the one he tried to keep separate from the old came crashing down months later. His mother showed up, promising that she was sober. Promising that this time, it was going to be different. And he believed her, wanted to believe her so badly he didn't even listen to his own common sense. She was the way she was. Nothing was ever going to change. And he was right, it didn't change. That night, he left her alone for ten minutes, and before he even knew what had happened, she was drunk again, yelling at him to help her up.

She left the next morning. Left him behind as she had done so many times. And despite all of that past history, it still felt as though she had ripped his heart barehanded from his chest. His foster mother came to sit with him in the pool house. He knew he was crying and he blessed the ground that when she walked in she pretended not to notice.

He found himself sitting on the driveway of his foster home later that night, once again staring at the stars, begging for some kind of comfort. Some kind of peace. The voices in his head seemed so deafening. So infinite, he didn't know if they would ever silence. They called him failure, unwanted. He'd left everything he'd ever known behind, coming to a world he didn't understand and a family who would willingly give him everything without asking for anything in return.

Her leaving had hurt just as badly as AJ's fists. The injuries left behind wept liquid crimson just as surely as any wound AJ had ever left on his body.

Although sometimes he didn't feel that way, all his life he had been an innocent in the power struggles of the adults around him. The blood of that innocence had been spilled onto the hands of those controlling him his whole life. He loathed them and all they stood for. And yet, couldn't hate them, because he loved them. Despite everything they had done, he still loved them.

CRYING, "JESUS, HELP ME, TO FEEL THE SUN AGAIN, UPON MY FACE

FOR WHEN DARKNESS CLEARS, I KNOW YOU'RE NEAR,

BRINGING PEACE AGAIN."

His foster mother came out of the house that morning, hours before dawn, knowing what she would find. Her angel-boy was taking the events of the day before all onto his shoulders. He was so responsible and so determined to accept the blame that he never realized that it might not be his fault. "Sweetheart, what are you thinking?"

"It's so dark," he replied, staring up the sky.

She deliberately misunderstood him, hoping to get him to talk more about how he was feeling about everything. "Of course it's dark, sweetie. It's not even close to dawn yet."

Ethereal blue eyes looked back at her, shining bright even in the dimness of pre-dawn. "No, not the sky. I mean the world. I hate her, I hate her so much."

"I know. But I also know that you are allowed to love her. For all of her faults, she was your mother."

He looked back up at the stars. "You think so?"

"She was your mother, honey. Just remember, you're mine now. And I'm not giving you up so easily."

He nodded, leaning into her easily, showing her affection that he had never shown before. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep there. Hours later, she still held him in his arms when the sun started to creep up over the house. He stirred tiredly and opened his eyes. The sun glared brightly, bringing with it the start of a new day. A new life. A new family. Realizing that someone was holding him in her arms, he tilted his head back, somewhat surprised to see his foster mother still seated there. "You're still here," he commented in shock.

She nodded, her own blue eyes grave as she looked into his eyes. "And I always will be. Whenever the world gets dark, just wait for the dawn and you'll see me there."

He smiled and burrowed back into her, watching the sun rise. He was loved. He was safe. There was no longer anything that would ever scare him.

He was home.

CAN YOU HEAR THE PRAYER OF THE CHILDREN?


End file.
